Re-Rollerz
by Deckenpuppel
Summary: An alternate story arc for the Rollerz in Saints Row 1, focusing on the Boss and Lin.
1. Chapter 1: The Price of Altering Fate

**Disclaimer:** Normally, I am not really into altering the existing story arcs, but I made an exception for this one. A couple of the people from "The Third Street Authors" received a request to write a story about Saints Row; one involving Lin and the Boss but in which Lin didn't die. I felt so honored by receiving something like an actual request to write something, I decided I wanted to write at least something for that person. The result is what you see before you now. Please enjoy, and feel free to let me know whether you liked it or not.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The <strong>**Price of Altering Fate**

Sitting on the steps of the old church, a beer in one hand and a burger in the other, the player could not help but feel a rare sense of contentment. The sun was shining unto his face, he had some cash in his pocket, control over his live, and things were looking good for the 3rd Street Saints. Both the Vice Kings and Los Carnalles knew by now that the Saints were to be taken seriously, and with one of their own playing wolf in sheep's clothing with the Westside Rollerz, it was only a matter of time before they had those assholes by the balls as well.

Lin. For some reason the player's thoughts stuck the woman from Chinatown. In many ways, she was very much like Johnny. Tough, spirited and with dangerous temper, she was one quick to throw a punch and long to hold a grudge, a trigger happy straight shooter, who took no shit from anyone. But where Johnny's aggressiveness was often hidden behind an easy smile, cocky jokes and an odd notion of enjoying life, Lin wore her's always on the surface, for all the world to see. Maybe it was a woman's thing, the player thought, smiling unconvincedly.

"Ah, there you are, playa."

He looked up. Dex and Troy came around the corner of the church, dressed as usually. The player saluted them with his beer.

"The boys told us that you were in," said Dex, turning the visor of his tennis cap to the front to shield his eyes. He slapped the player unto the shoulder and sat down beside him. "So what's up? Nothing to do for you today? You do know that between the two of us, we still have more than enough shit to keep you busy, right?"

The player flashed both of them a wry smile. "I'd love to help, but I am still on Rollerz duty."

Troy tsked. Leaning against one of the church's columns, he lit one of his cigarettes. "How is that coming?" he asked and breathed a lungful of smoke into the air.

The player shrugged. "So far real smooth. Lin finally found her entry ticket to the lion's den. Had me stage an attack on this guy, Donnie. Worked like a charm, too. She's in now. We messed up some serious gig for the Rollerz just the other day. And the best part: Lin tells me Donnie has asked her for help to work on their plan b. Once that one is all worked out, we're going to mess that one up, too."

If either of the two lieutenants were impressed by the report, they gave no sign of it. In fact, all they did was share a quite conspicuous look; the kind of look two parents exchanged when their kid had just said something really really stupid, and they were trying to decide whether it was cute or embarrassing. The meaning was not lost on the player.

"What's wrong," he wanted to know. "Something wrong with that plan?"

"You should be careful," Troy warned. "There is such a thing as being too eager, you know. Lin is too impatient, if you ask me. She is pushing too hard. Getting in is great, sure, but now that she is the hardest part will be to know what intel to use and when to allow the Rollerz to do their thing. You know, sitting out on the small stuff and making sure that when she takes a swing it will really be worth it.''

Dex gave Troy a long, odd look, but then he just shook his head and chuckled. ''He is right, playa. Lin is tough, I give her that, but she is not thinking this through. Yeah, sure; knowing details about the Rollerz operations is a great opportunity to mess with their business, but before long someone on the westside who is not a total moron will start asking how we are getting all this good intel. Lin is trying to power through this like she always does, all brawn and bravado, but that is not how this game is played. You've got to bid your time, slowly arrange all the pieces, until everything falls into place. Then you make your move, and you damn well better make sure that it leaves no one else standing.''

This time it was Troy's turn to give Dex a doubtful glance. The player's gaze switched back and forth between the two. Clearly, he was missing something here. He did not pay it too much attention, though. So far, both Dex and Troy had nothing but looked out for him. If there was something he needed to know, they would tell him. Otherwise, they were entitled to keeping a few things to themselves. Everybody did.

"Why are you telling me this? Why not tell it to Lin straight?"

Dex and Troy exchanged glances, squirming a little in their places. The player smiled. This one he understood perfectly well.

"You know how she gets," Troy mumbled, scratching his head. "Hell, she is probably still pissed at me because of that stupid racing plan of hers. Who needs that noise?"

"Totally," Dex agreed. "Besides: It's not our job to deal with her. It's yours. We're just trying to look out for our sister is all. Take it or leave it. Just don't come running later complaining we didn't warn you. All right, playa?"

The player did not like the sound of that. Not one bit. Dex and Troy left shortly afterwards, leaving the player once more to his musings. Any illusion of contentment that he may have harbored left with them.

It was not that he didn't trust Lin. She was a big girl, more than capable of taking care of herself. He had not compared her to Johnny for nothing, who was without doubt one of the toughest motherfuckers in the entire city. But this similarity was exactly what concerned the player. With Johnny, even Julius had thought it better to provide him with a babysitter, someone to keep him from pulling some reckless stunts. Was the player supposed to be Lin's? Even if he wasn't. Dex and Troy both agreed that a bit of caution might be the smarter play here, and the two of them were pretty much the smartest heads that they had within the Saints. At the very least, their advice was worth considering. There was only one problem: The player did know how Lin got, and unfortunately Dex and Troy had a point.

It wouldn't be pretty.

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><p>In the end, the player's conscience got the better of him, and he left Lin a message on her burner phone, telling her that they needed to meet that night. She sent word back to him quickly enough, but even by her message alone he could tell that she was not happy. Then again, she rarely was, so he wasn't overly concerned.<p>

They met behind Glitz, one of the few prominent nightclubs in the northwest of the city. It was a pretty risky move by itself, as the club was also frequented by some of the Rollerz, but it had worked before, and apparently Lin had a hard time convincing Donnie that she needed to get out, seeing how they were supposed to be working and all. The player chuckled at the thought. As if somebody like that guy Donnie ever would be able to keep Lin from doing anything she wanted.

The player waited for Lin in the relative darkness of a nearby alleyway. He had thought about not wearing his colors, but he doubted it would make much of a difference at this point. After the stunts he had pulled with the Rollerz, most of their crews were pretty familiar with his face and would probably try to waste him on sight. An inconspicuous jacket would not change that.

Lin was running late. It was already quarter past, and there was still no sign of her. Slowly but steadily, the player was getting anxious. He was just about to do something about that when she suddenly appeared behind him from out of nowhere.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" Lin whisper-snarled. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"Then start talking and stop wasting my time! I need to get back."

"It's about ruining the Rollerz salvage plan. I don't think we should go through with it."

The look on Lin's face was hard to describe. At first it was just mere disbelief, but after that all kinds of emotions and expressions began to cascade over her delicate face. The player spotted traces of a cynical smile, doubt, a rebuking scowl and even a certain amount of genuine wonder. As he had expected, though, the dominant emotion was anger: overpowering, all-encompassing anger.

The player was kind of surprised that Lin did not hit him right there. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she growled. "For that you risk blowing my cover; Just when we are about to score big-time? Because you are getting cold feet!?"

"It's not that."

Lin wasn't really listening. She turned away from him and paced around the alley like a caged animal, fists clenched and something clearly brewing inside of her.

"Think about it, Lin," the player urged. "If we are not careful, you will be made. We already fucked the Rollerz up good. We need to play it smart. You are no use to us if you end up shot or at the bottom of the ocean. Or both."

"Listen, you Jackass!" She got up close and stabbed him into the chest with her finger. "I can take care of myself! So why don't you let me do my job and go fuck yourself in the meantime."

The player hesitated. Having Lin this close and up in his face somehow reminded him of one of their previous meetings. He had arrived inside Glitz, and Lin had taken his hand to lead him to the dance floor, moving her body close to his, and swaying softly to the music as she briefed him on their next move. At one point, she had moved her mouth close to his ear, breathing a husky "boom" into it as she described the sound the Rollerz race cars would soon be making. Everything about that meeting had be so much unlike her, the player thought. Why had she chosen this kind of meeting? If she just wanted to talk, there were a million easier ways to do that, without requiring her to cozy up to him. So why did she? He looked into her blazing dark eyes, remembering what she had said to him just after that: "You're no good to us dead."

"You once pretty much told me the same thing, remember?" He nodded at the nightclub, but Lin merely shrugged it off.

"That's because were just some new kid in way over his head, and I didn't want your corpse on my conscience."

"How sweet of you," the player said with a smile. "In that case, consider this being me returning the favor."

Lin shoved him hard. "Fuck you."

"What's your problem? I'm just trying to look out for you!"

Lin tsked and gave him one of her derisive glares. "You know what? Forget it."

She turned to move away, but before she could the player jumped at her, grabbing her arm.

"We're not done. Come on, Lin. Let's talk about this."

"Talking is overrated," she replied, looking first at his hand, then up to his face. She was deadly calm all of a sudden. "Actually, that was one of the reasons I liked you." She yanked his arm from his softening grip. "Right up until now."

The player's face darkened at that, and he pulled back his hand. "Fine, be my guest. But I am still not doing it. I will not be the one to get you killed."

"You think I wanted this!? I'm no backstabbing little bitch who gets off on lying and letting people dance to her fucking tune, you hear me! I took this job because Julius asked me to, because I am the only one who can actually pull this off. So don't you come preaching to me now like you know shit. This is my neck on the line here, and we are doing this my way. If you have a problem with that tell Julius to find me someone who doesn't!"

In that moment, he was one inch away from smacking some sense into her. Apparently that was the only language she'd understand. Yet even as he considered that option and growled at her in preparation of his angry retort, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he throw a glance to the left, and as he beheld the blotches of blue flashing up from the flags of three Roller thugs that had just stepped into the entrance of the alley for a smoke, all his anger fell off him in an instant. Lin followed his gaze, and when she spotted the Rollerz as well, she froze, and her eyes widened in terror.

By some sort of miracle, the Rollerz had not spotted them yet, if only because none of them had actually looked down into the alley so far. But it was only a matter of seconds before one of them would, and then all hell would break lose. The player's thoughts were racing. They could not be seen together. It would ruin everything. The Rollerz would know that Lin had been sent to spy on them, and the Saints would loose the only advantage they had over the tuners. Not that it would matter much for Lin and the player. Chances were they would not survive the night.

The player glanced at Lin and back to the Rollerz. They could not be seen together, he repeated once more in his mind. Then his eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. It was true, they could not be seen together: Not talking anyways. So when one of the Rollerz finally started to turn, the player did the only thing he could think off on top of his head. He hit Lin straight in the face.

His fist exploded against her mouth like a baseball bat, snapping her head to the side and sending her reeling. Lin was so surprised that she did not manage more than a muffled grunt of pain. For the first punch, anyway. But the player was not done yet. This wasn't the time for halfhearted measures. It needed to look convincing, at least that was what he told himself. So he moved after her, even as she was still recovering from the first blow, and set to hammering a vicious combination of punches into her slender frame, finishing with burying his fist in her stomach, causing Lin to double and spit a mixture of drool and blood unto the ground. This time she did scream.

It turned all of the Rollerz' heads at once. They needed a moment in the gloomy light to realize that the person receiving the beating of her life was wearing their colors, but once the did, they did not mess around, and started charging down the alley to come to her rescue. That was the player's cue to get the hell out for there, but as he turned to make his escape, a punch suddenly exploded against his chin.

"You bastard!" Lin screamed, struggling to her feet. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and spat out. Then she threw herself at him. The player stumbled backwards, frantically trying to defend himself from the punches that Lin rained down upon him in her rage. What the hell was she doing? he thought, glancing at the Rollerz that were coming in fast

"Shit, Lin!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Stop it. I need to get out of here!"

Lin did not respond. She had totally lost it. Screaming and snarling like a banshee, she laid blow after blow after blow on him. And she was strong, too. He needed to find a way out of his, and fast.

Luckily for him, he remembered something Johnny had said to Lin after the Saints had taken over the row: something about not throwing her shoulder so much when she punched. So when Lin reached back for her next one, the player surged forward and ducked through under it. Her punch still hit him, but true to Johnny's word she had raised her shoulder too high, and in punching down at an awkward angle, the punch lost much of its fierceness, allowing the player to power through. Making full use of the sudden opening, he quickly hammered two jabs against Lin's ribs, followed by a bone-jarring uppercut that snapped Lin's head back again. When Lin still refused to go own, he grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed a head-butt right unto her nose, breaking it with a nasty crunching noise. That proved to be too much even for Lin to take. Dazed and in all kinds of agony, she finally stayed down, stumbling backwards on unsteady legs before finally collapsing to the ground with a groan.

The player did not have any time to spare feeling sorry for her. One glance behind him confirmed that the Rollerz were almost upon him, and so he bolted, heading straight for his car around the corner. But the Rollerz were already sprinting at full speed when the player set off, and the distance dwindled quickly. Cursing under his breath, the player fumbled for his gun. It took him a second, but then he managed to pull it from the back of his pants, and he started to fire blindly at the Rollerz, emptying the entire mag into the alleyway. The Rollerz ducked and dove as the bullets started flying, seeking shelter behind the few trash bins or throwing themselves flat to the ground, struggling to produce their own weapons. One even managed to pull in time to get a shot off, but it missed the player by several inches before he darted around the corner and out of harm's way.

By the time the Rollerz surged out of the alleyway, all they could see were the rear-lights of a purple car, quickly disappearing into the distance.

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><p>It was in the middle of the night that the player's phone rang. He did not even realize it at first. The irritating voice slowing forced its way into his slumbering consciousness, first invading his nightmares and then slowly pulling him to the surface of awareness. He awoke with a disgruntled groan, disoriented for a moment, but when the phone rang again he sat up, starring at the vibrating and crying little device with a growing sense of forboding. He had not heard from Lin ever since he had left her in that alleyway, and neither had any of the other Saints. A call at this hour could only mean two things: Either it was her, or it was about her. He sincerely hoped it would turn out to be the former. He reached for the phone, hesitating for a moment as he held it. Then he answered the call.<p>

"This one's on you," Lin said on the other end. The player's heart jumped in his chest as he heard her voice, but even as he let out a sigh of relief, he realized that something had to be wrong. Lin's voice was barely above a whisper, halfway between an incomprehensible slurr and a reproachful snarl. The player had never heard her like this. It was obvious that she had been drinking. What little remained of his tiredness was burned away in an instant.

"Lin! What's the matter? What happened?"

"What happened?" she repeated, followed by a chuckle so cynical that it sent a shiver down his spine. "What do you fucking think happened? You attacked me! Beat me! The others, too! Did you expect the Rollerz would just let that stand!?"

"Jesus, Lin. What did you do?"

"Me?" Another chuckle. This time it almost broke into a sob at the end. "Oh, I did nothing. Just what you wanted me to, I played the part. We have to be careful, right? Wouldn't want them to find out that I am not a real Roller, would we?"

The players hand grabbed a handful of his blanket, clenching it so tightly that the white showed beneath his knuckles. "What did you do!?" he asked again, more forcefully this time.

"Couldn't let you disrespect us like that, you know? First Donnie and my car, then you jumping me. It was just too much. I couldn't refuse." She paused. "Fuck! You damn Motherfucker! We retaliated! I retaliated!"

The player froze at his end of the line. This couldn't be, he thought. This was not possible. But even as he sought to deny it, another part of him accepted the news all too eagerly. It wasn't hard to see it all playing out before his inner eye. Lin, beaten and bloody struggling to her feet, surrounded by other Rollerz, making up some story about the same guy that attacked her and Donnie at the garage jumping her. The fateful question pretty much asked itself. Were they going to let the Saints disrespect them like that? Of course they weren't. And who would do the honours? Who better than the Rollerz-girl that had just been jumped, who by any reasoning had to be out for blood the most? Lin was right. There had been no way she could have refused.

"Lin, I - "

She cut him off before he had even started, her voice cold and frozen, devoid of any emotion. "Don't bother,'' she said. "I don't need your pity. It's on you. It's all on you."

Just like that, the line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2: A Turn for the Worse?

**Disclaimer: After a little break, I can now present chapter two. It took a good deal longer to write, both because it is much longer compared to chapter 1 and also because connecting all the different ideas and scenes that I had in my mind turned out to be not as easy as I had hoped. I want to make use of the opportunity to thank the Third Street Authors (a local group that has formed on this page) for overall support and general awesomeness.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: A Turn for the Worse?<strong>

The next day was a solemn occasion at the row. When the player arrived, the church and the adjacent graveyard were already packed with people, and there was only one thing occupying their minds: Three of their own had been killed, gunned down by a Rollerz drive-by shortly after midnight. Worst of all, the only survivor swore that one of the gunners was no other than Lin, one of their own, or so they had thought. Now many weren't so sure anymore. Some were openly uttering words like "betrayal" or vowing that Lin would get what's coming to her.

When they saw the player, most of the talks quickly fell apart as people turned to stare at him. He tried to ignore them as best as he could as he made his way inside the church. There was nothing he could tell them, nothing that would make a difference. The other Saints made a path for him, and he walked through their silent ranks as if the was part of some macabre funeral procession. As soon as he passed, the talks picked up again, first only in quiet mutterings and whispers, but increasing in volume with each step he made. He was outright relieved when he closed the heavy church doors behind him, muffling the sound outside and silencing the constant buzz outside that echoed the doubts he harbored in his heart.

Inside the church, things weren't much different, only taking place at a smaller scale. The table was in full attendance - except for Lin, of course - and the Saints' officers were engaged in a discussion just as heated as those taking place outside, maybe more. Naturally, the player had told Julius what happened with Lin, and he in turn had passed the information on to the other Lieutenants.

"We always knew something like this might happen," said Troy, obviously speaking on Lin's behalf. "It was only a matter of time before the Rollerz would demand some demonstration of her loyalty."

It was weird hearing Troy talk like this. Not so long ago, he had been the one that was worried about Lin loosing herself in her assignment. It there had ever been an opportunity to press his point this would have been it. But Troy was too intelligent to really belief that this was what was going on with Lin at this point, and he was too honest to take advantage of it anyway. The player regarded him highly for that. Not everybody at the table did.

"That doesn't give her the fucking right to go around and shoot us!" stated Johnny. "That's over the fucking limit!"

Troy scowled at him. "She didn't have a choice."

"Sure she did. She could have missed or wasted the Rollerz rolling with her. Or even better; put a bullet into their leader's head the moment she fucking met him!"

"If she had done any of those things," Dex cut in, "it would most likely be her dead corpse we would be standing over."

"Fuck that. We could have pulled her out."

"And then what, Johnny?" Dex asked, frustration seeping into his voice. "You want us to go up against the Rollerz blind?"

Johnny shrugged. "Worked well enough with the Vice Kings and Carnalez so far."

"Only that it didn't. They are so long in the game you can almost read up on them in history books! If you would ever bother to pick one up, that it."

"Da fuck you say!?"

Troy pushed in between them. "Guys, guys! Take it easy! Look, she is still our friend, right? One bad call does not change that. So what do we do to help her out?"

"There is not much we can do at this point," said Julius, finally cutting in. All eyes turned on him. "Put some feelers out, but be discreet about it. We don't need to complicate things for her further. Just make sure she is all right. Other than that, until we hear from her, its business as usual. The other gangs aren't about to give us a break, so keep working the streets."

None of the Lieutenants seemed to be exactly happy with these orders, but they all complied nevertheless, and got up to rally their crews. Only the player stayed back. Julius took a long hard look at him, and they shared in a moment of silence.

"This isn't your fault, you know."

The player gave Julius a wry smile. "Sure feels like it."

"Your heart was in the right place. In my book, that counts for something. Sometimes in life, there is no easy way out. Sometimes doing what's right ends up causing the same amount of misery as messing up bad. But that doesn't change the fact that you did the right thing. It's not much, I give you that, but it will have to do for the time being."

"What about Lin?"

"She'll come around. There is more to her than the tough act the puts on all the time; I guess you have seen that much for yourself by now. But deep down, beneath the act and all, I believe she is even stronger than she herself realizes. She will get through this. trust me."

The player took a moment to take all of that in, starring out of one of the church's windows. Eventually, he nodded. "Who were the ones that got killed?"

Julius sighed, the sound long and full of regret. "Some kid named Travis, and the Dickson brothers. Good people from what I hear." His voice trailed off. "I didn't even know them very well."

"You have a lot on your plate. You can't know everyone."

Julius nodded. "It's a damn shame nonetheless. I brought all of these people together, asked them to fight back, to spill blood, to go up against drug-dealers and psychopaths. One might think the least thing I could do in return was to know them."

The player hesitated for a moment. He had never seen Julius like this before; so maudlin and uncertain. It put him ill at ease. Ever since he had joined the Saints, Julius had been the beacon lighting the way, a bulwark of life experience and moral integrity that provided the disgruntled youth of the row with a rallying point and purpose. Seeing him like this reminded the player that Julius too was only a man. A great man, a man with vision, but still only a man. Right in this moment, Julius was a man with doubts, and the player found himself having trouble accepting that. For when Julius had his doubts about whether what they did was truly the right thing and ultimately worth it, and he had followed that man up until now without ever questioning a single word that came out of Julius's mouth, what did that say about him? He wasn't really sure, but it sure as hell did not feel like anything to be proud of.

"You can't know everything," the player said, as much to Julius as to comment on his own thoughts. "You're only human."

Julius smiled at that, but it was a sad smile and tired; so very very tired. It made the player feel disheartened and angry at the same time. Julius was right. many of the Saints had bled and suffered and sacrificed all they had for Julius and his vision of a safer and better future. The least thing he could do in return was to have the fucking decency to be sure that it was the right thing.

"We're holding a little ceremony here later," Julius announced. "The families can't afford much, so I've offered our help. No need to pay a funeral home when you happen to have a graveyard on your front porch, you know? I'd appreciate it if you would be there."

"Yeah, sure. You got it."

Julius sighed. "Good. Look, don't mind me, son. It has been a tough couple of days, that's all. I'll see you later."

Glad that the meeting was over, the player left the church, got into his car, and drove off. He was not heading anywhere in particular, just driving around, trying to put if his mind off things. But Julius's words kept haunting him, and so did Lin. He took one important thing away from his meeting with Julius: So far he had been perfectly content following Julius's orders without question, but now Julius's doubts had woken doubts on his own within him, and for the first time in his life the player wondered whether it would not be better to be calling the shots himself.

It wouldn't be the last time.

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><p>The next few days passed without any major incidents. The big players remained oddly quiet, no gang trying to move onto another's turf or messing with another's business. Had they not been overshadowed by the circumstances of the Rollerz drive-by, it would have actually been a nice respite, but with things being what they were, the silence and idleness were smothering. Nobody heard from Lin, not even those who set specifically to catch a glimpse of her. It did little to improve the mood.<p>

The player himself spent the days dividing his time between looking for Lin and just trying to keep himself busy. He repeatedly checked the places Lin was known to frequent, staking the places out for hours on end and working himself through the entire cuisine of Stilwater's fast food industry. He also spent a lot of time around Chinatown, running a few errands for Mr. Wong solely for the reason that he hoped running into Lin and for keeping an eye on Donnie's garage. But Lin never showed, and the garage remained abandoned. Whenever he needed a break, he would call upon one of his contacts for some quality time, putting some grease in the old social engine to keep things running smoothly, just in case he would find himself in a pinch anytime soon. Among those, his encounters with Samantha were doubtlessly the most pleasant and effective in distracting him. In her embrace, he indeed managed to forget about Lin, at least for a short while. As soon as he would awake, though, she would be back, staring at him before his inner eye with that cold hard look of hers, and a derisive smile on her lips.

He had long stopped expecting the call when it finally came. The player was sitting in his favorite corner of Freckle Bitches, having a quick bite when his phone began to ring. It was almost surreal. He picked up and just like that there she was, her voice as tense and gritty as he remembered it and her manner direct and blunt as always.

"They're coming for you," she said.

"Thank god," replied the player, too caught up in the moment to really listen to her. He sighed and slumped back in his chair, all of his worst fears and nightmares that had haunted him over the last days finally falling off of him. "Are you all right?"

"You better stop talking and start listening: The Rollerz are coming for you. You have to get out of there. Now!"

The player sat back up and blinked, confused now. "The Rollerz? Why? How?"

"Never mind how! It's Donnie. The fool somehow got into his head that taking care of you would impress me."

Immediately, the player was a little less worried. "That guy? Please. I can take him."

"I know that!" snapped Lin. "And so does he. That's why he is not coming alone, you moron."

"Okay okay. I'm going," he replied, standing up and covertly checking his gun. "So what's the plan?"

"Plan?" She hesitated for a moment, then went on. "You try to stay alive. And whatever you do, you don't lay a hand on Donnie."

"What!? You cannot be —"

"Shut up! You do not touch him, is that clear?"

The player groaned into his phone, but did not press the matter further. He left the restaurant and walked over to his car, ignoring the somewhat hostile look the waiter was giving him with seasoned indifference.

"And one last thing," Lin added as he reached his car. "Don't think this changes anything between us."

With that, she hung up on him, again. Before he had the chance to say anything in response. This was beginning to become a rather annoying habit with her, he thought. Getting into his car, he started the engine and pulled out into traffic.

* * *

><p>It did not take long for the Rollerz to find him. Between blinks, they just suddenly appeared in his rear mirror. There were three of them; two sports cars and one jeep. According to what Lin had told him, the later would have to be Donnie. For a second, the player wondered how they had managed to find him, but he immediately snapped at himself for the stupidity of the thought. The bright purple paint job of his car was kind of a give-away.<p>

All right, the player thought, glancing once more into his rear mirror. Let's see what you guys are made of. Shifting into a lower gear, he stepped on the gas.

It was a strange kind of dance that unfolded on Stilwater's freeway. Traffic flowed over the tarmac in different current of urgency, one slow, others fast, but all more or less steadily. But as the player and his pursuers commenced their case, the almost soothing kind of symmetry and rhythm found itself disrupted. The chase inserted its own rhythm into the mix, and it wound around the existing currents just as the player and the Rollerz wound their way passed the other cars on the freeway, switching back and forth between lanes with startling speed, their engines roaring and screaming.

The whole game changed yet again when the Rollerz closed in and opened fire. The flying bullets shattered all order entirely. Startled and scared, the workers and commuters in their cars abandoned all reason and let their instincts take over. Many tried to play dead, hitting the breaks and hoping the violence would simply pass them by, while others searched their salvation in flight, either breaking out to the side or pushing the gas pedal into the ground. The result was pure chaos, followed by several crashes that turned the freeway into an obstacle course.

The gangers surged on. They evaded all obstacles and continued their firefight completely undaunted, spreading panic further and further along the road. In a way, it only served to reaffirm their outlook on life: Them as the angry predators, the other people as tame sheep that scattered before their approach, the natural order of things.

Alone in his car and being the one that was chased, the player found himself at the disadvantage of having to drive for- and shooting backwards simultaneously. As it happened, though, the player was a pragmatist when it came to these things, believing that if the bullet-time ratio got only high enough, skill and luck ceased to be the deciding factors. And so he gave freely, emptying the mags of his T3Ks with gusto, paying only attention as far as making sure that he was shooting at the sports cars and not the SUV was concerned.

It was quite remarkable, really. Not so long ago, he had lain on the ground of some rundown parking lot, scared out of his mind and feeling utterly helpless starring down the barrel of a gun that was pointed at him. But now, with bullets flying all around him, there was deadly calm. The bullets did not scare him any longer. He merely acknowledged their presence, and their potential to kill and maim, just a cold fact that held no power over him. Death, so it seemed, had simply become too familiar a sight to allow its prospect to be feared any longer.

Even as the player thought these thoughts, his constant fire claimed its first victim, smashing through one of the sports car's windshield and causing the driver's head to disappear in a cloud of red mist. The car's horn began to honk as the limb body slapped against it, but with no one to drive and step on the gas, the blue car fell behind quickly and was soon lost from sight.

A hard jerk surged through the player's car when one his tires was ripped apart by an enemy bullet. Busy with reloading his SMG, the player suddenly was forced to fight pretty hard to keep the car on the road. Another bullet missed him only by inches, flying through his already shattered rear window to punch another hole into his windshield. Gritting his teeth, the player finished reloading his weapon and replied in kind, pumping a score of projectiles through the other sports car's hood and into the engine block until he hit something vital whose destruction sent the whole system into a meltdown. Flames sprang up through the holes and crags of the hood and licked along the car's frame with their fiery tongues, whipped along by the airflow of the drive. Then a massive explosion tore through all other sound, blocking it out as the Rollerz's car disappeared within a giant fireball. The player couldn't help but smile. Now it was time to deal with Donnie.

To his credit, Donnie had not hidden behind his friends during the fight, and even with them gone, he refused to back down. Whether it was bravery, false pride or plain old revenge that kept the mechanic going, the player couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Above all it was merely stupid; as Donnie was about to find out. The blue SUV barely had a mark on it, and regardless of Donnie's qualities as a shooter and drive, he sure knew his way around the hood, and had tuned the shit of the Quasar, turning it into a high performance machine capable of leaving other racers breathless in its wake. There was no way the player would be able to outrun that, not with half his car and one of his tires shot to shit.

It was time for a more direct touch. Literally.

The player waited until Donnie was right behind him, before he made his move. Pulling as hard on the wheel as he could, the car's back snapped forward as its nose broke away to the side. It struggled to keep its grip against the unfolding momentum, but it was futile. The car was flipped onto its side, glass shattering and steel bending under the impact, but the force pushing the car was too strong still, and it would have flipped further and further, had it not been for Donnie's Quasar hitting the player one or two heartbeats later, stabilizing his car's motion even as it added another violent punch to the equation. Sparks erupted on all sides from beneath the car as it ground and scratched over the ground. Donnie immediately stepped onto the breaks. Tires screeched and smoked and filled the air with the stench of burning rubber as the Roller's jeep wrestled down its own speed. The player's car, on the other hand, slithered on for several yards before finally coming to a stop as well.

Groaning and achingly, the player fought his way out of the wreckage, climbing out on the up-turned driver's side and dropping himself to the street with a thud. He was covered from head to toe in bruises and scratched, and pressed one of his arms closely to his body, but at the same time a crazy grin played around his lips. When he looked up, he saw Donnie, sitting all bug-eyed and slack-jawed behind the wheel, holding on to it like to a life-line. Taking advantage of the mechanic's astonishment, the player pulled his gun and leveled it at Donnie. He flinched as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain searing through his body. Still, he plan had worked, kind of at least. The chase was over, and he had the drop on Donnie. Now all he had to do was to sell it.

"Get out!" he called, waving his gun. Donnie kept starring at him. With his generally short fuse cut even shorter by the pain he was in, the player quickly lost his patience, and sent a bullet through the windshield and into the passenger seat, both to vent his growing irritation as well as to bring Donnie to focus. "I said: Get out!"

The encouragement worked like a charm. The shot shook Donnie out of his revelry, and once he was out, he could not have complied faster even if he had wanted to. He all but jumped out of the SUV, and put his hands into the air without the player even asking him to. His wide eyes were pinned to the barrel of the player's gun. Slowly, the player moved closer, his smile widening as Donnie's breathing grew heavier and heavier with each step he took, and noticing with sweet glee how a slight tremble took hold of Donnie's limbs. It made all the trouble and pain almost worth it. Almost.

He drew out the mental torture as long as he could, but eventually, he barrel of his gun came to rest on Donnie's forehead. The little mechanic had closed his eyes, cold sweat running down his temples and his breath racing on the verge of hyperventilation. For a moment, the player wondered whether a spineless person such as Donnie could actually die of fright. It certainly looked like he was very close.

"Please don't kill me!"

The words just came tumbling out of Donnie's mouth. The player chuckled, twisting the gun and pressing it harder against the Roller's skull. Not having forgotten Lin's expressed orders not to touch him, the whole situation was kind of hilarious.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Clearly, Donnie had not thought that far ahead. His eyes snapped open and jumped back and forth between the player and his gun, and he began to stutter an mostly incoherent torrent of words, throwing around curses and excuses and everything in between as his terrified mind tried to come up with a good reason why the player shouldn't pull the trigger. It was truly delicious.

"Oh, cheer up!" the player said eventually, cutting Donnie off. "I am not going to kill you. I need you."

Donnie blinked at him, both surprised and confused. "Y...you do?"

"Of course I do! That girl that I ruffed up the other night. What's her name?"

"Huh? I am not telling you —"

The player whipped his pistol over Donnie's face, not once but twice, back and forth, cutting Donnie off and wrestling a high-pitched whimper from his lips.

"I don't think you understood how this works. Let me explain it to you once again. I ask you a question, you answer. If I like what I hear, I'll let you live. If I don't, well ... I don't. Understood? Let's try that again. What is the bitch's name?"

Donnie looked more sad than scared when he answered. "Lin. Her name is Lin."

"See, was that so hard? Now, as she and I were interrupted when we last met, we have kind of have unfinished business. So, what I want you to do, is to give her a message from me. Can you do that?"

Donnie nodded meekly, not meeting the Saint's eyes. The player took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. He needed to choose his next words carefully.

"Tell that bitch we are coming for her, no matter what she does. Tell her that it will be soon. As it so happens, I am going to town tonight; I am always making new friends, you see. Tell her that I suggested she'd better do the same. Did I make myself clear?"

"Y...Yes."

The player smiled, slapping Donnie gently on the cheek a couple of times. "Good. Now run along, little man. Don't keep the lady waiting." We winked at him. "I bet she hates that."

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, the player was sitting in Mr. Wong's tea house in Chinatown. As compensation for the services he had rendered to the aging mobster, Wong had reserved the most secluded spot in the entire establishment for his private assassin from the Saints, and the entire staff had been notified about the expected guest of honor, as well as to look out for any Rollerz entering the tea house beside her. Not that the Rollerz were exactly known for their keen interest in traditional Chinese tea culture, which was probably why Lin had chosen the location as a meet-up in the first place.<p>

Time crawled by at a snail's pace. The player looked at his phone for what had to be the hundredth time since his arrival. More than an hour had passed, and doubts were beginning to set in. What if Lin had not gotten the secret message contained in his rant to Donnie? What if that idiot had remembered things differently? What if he had not told Lin anything at all, too ashamed of his failure to address it? Or the worst case scenario; what if Lin had received the message and simply decided that she had no desire to speak to him? The possibilities were numerous, but the player continued to wait. He had not been able to set an exact time for the meeting, and 'tonight' could be interpreted in a variety of ways. There was also the possibility that Lin just had trouble getting away, and was running late. He was holding on to those possibilities. They were the only ones that didn't cause him to go crazy.

He spent another half hour between texting and checking faces whenever a new customer entered the tea house. He was so caught up in keeping an eye on the door that he did not notice when Lin slipped in through the back and joined him in his booth. Apparently, she and Mr. Wong were on good terms as well.

The player flinched as he caught sight of her face. It wasn't really that bad; just slight discolorations and a swollen lip, but knowing that it was him that had caused it, even that seemed like a big deal to him. Lin deliberately didn't look at him. Her dark eyes scanned the rest of the tea house with a mixture of disinterest and brooding scorn. Eventually she sighed, produced a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lit one, lodging it loosely between her lips. It only made the swelling look more prominent. She took a long deep draw on the smoke and exhaled noisily.

"So?" she asked.

The player hesitated. He had spent the last couple of days trying to think of something smart to say to her, but now that she was actually sitting across from him, his mind was completely empty.

"Glad you could make it," he said eventually, just to say anything at all. Lin merely shrugged, still not looking at him.

"Thanks again for the warning. I probably would have been toast without you."

"Don't mention it."

"Right, right," mumbled the player, trying to think of something else. "So Donnie delivered my message?"

"Otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?" Lin chided, glancing at him for the first time. Her voice remained distant and condescending. "That message had a nice touch to it. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

The player made a face at her. "Pretty much. I mean, I might have borrowed some words from Troy, but —"

"Ugh!"

"I meant it, though. We all do. Well, except Johnny maybe. He's pretty pissed at you."

"I bet he is not the only one," Lin answered in between draws. "Thanks anyway." It did not sound like she meant it.

Okay, thought the player, this was not working out as planned.

"So how's Donnie?"

To his surprise, Lin actually chuckled, turning halfway towards him. "You scared the shit out of him. But didn't I tell you not to touch him?"

"I didn't!"

"You pistol-whipped him."

"Oh come on! That hardly counts. The guy had just tried to kill me. I had to get a little rough to sell it."

Lin rolled her eyes and turned away again. "Whatever."

And just like that the player had lost her again. He cursed inwardly. However, talking about Donnie at least had caused some reaction on her part. He decided to stick with it.

"That guy Donnie really seems to be falling for you."

"No shit." She tsked. "Told me that I was his girl the other night, that fool."

"Well, ain't that sweet?"

"Shut up. It is embarrassing enough to have a wuss like that doting over me like I am some fucking damsel in distress:" She paused for a moment, breathing another load of smoke into the air. The bitterness faded from her voice. "He'll be crushed should he ever find out the truth."

The player shrugged, leaning back in the booth. "Why not bring him over? You know, convince him to join the Saints. We sure could use someone to take care of our rides."

"No way. Donnie is too loyal. He would never turn on that pig, Price. God knows why."

"In that case the will probably end up dead."

"Why do you care?" Lin asked, her eyes narrowing. "What is it that you want?"

"What do you think? I want to finish what we've started. I want to finish the Rollerz once and for all."

"You assume that's still what I am after."

The weight of those words knocked the wind straight out of the player. He didn't believe what he was just hearing.

"Come on," he said, anxious now. "Get a hold on yourself. You can't mean —"

"Why not?" Lin snarled. "Thanks to you, I have killed more Saints with my own hands than Rollerz." She leaned back, looking casually at her dwindling cigarette butt. "Who knows? Maybe it's my calling."

"I know that you're pissed but —"

"You don't know shit, asshole. You didn't when you got me into this mess, and you don't now. So why don't you give me one good reason not to get up and go right now."

The player gritted his teeth. "You don't belong with the Rollerz, Lin. You're a Saint."

"At one point?" She shrugged. "Sure. Now? Not so sure anymore. The Rollerz are really not so bad. Assholes maybe, but then again, who isn't these days? Plus, purple was never really my color, so —"

This time, it was the player that interrupted her. "You know what, just shut the fuck up!" he exploded. "I've had it with your bullshit. You can't run with the Rollerz, bitch. You want to know why? Because if that was truly what you wanted, you wouldn't be sitting here with me right now, playing hard to get. And even if you did want to roll with them, you're not fucking stupid enough to think it would actually work. If you told them the truth about you, they would kill you, and if you didn't, then someone from the Row would do it for you sooner or later. Either way, you'd be done for. So cut the crap."

Lin's eyes were blazing with fury. "Look who just found his lost pair of balls," she mocked, squashing what remained of her smoke into the ashtray. "If you're trying to apologize, you doing a pretty shitty job right about now."

"I'm done apologizing," he player countered, his eyes icy. "I want to move passed this, but I can't if you won't give a chance. It's fine. I'll find another way to deal with the Rollerz. Take care."

Trembling with rage, he pushed himself up and out of the booth. He glanced a last time at Lin, but she had turned her head away from him, starring against the wall, her jaw clenched tightly. The player shook his head in disgust. Then he made his way towards the exit.

He had made about three steps when he heard her voice from behind him.

"On one condition."

The player stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Lin hadn't moved. Her face was still turned away from him. Still, he hadn't imagined what he had just heard. Lin had said those words. It was maybe the last chance to mend things between them, but at this point a big part of him didn't care anymore. If she wanted to hate him, that was fine with him. Two could play at that game.

Torn between his pride and his loyalty, the player remained motionless, frowning and gritting his teeth. His gaze switched a few times back and forth between Lin and the door. Eventually a long sigh rose from his lips, and with a sudden jerk he surged back into the both, even angrier than he was when he had left it.

"Let's hear it."

Lin turned slowly towards him, looking him straight into the eye.

"Afterwards, when all of this is over. You and me are going to have a rematch."

The player blinked. He was so surprised, he actually forgot a good deal of the anger seething inside him. He considered chuckling at that proposal, until he realized that Lin wasn't joking.

"You're serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lin growled. "You surprised me in that alley. That's the only reason you managed to get past me. Straight up, you'd be dead by now."

"Jeez, Lin. It wasn't exactly a competition."

"Doesn't matter," she replied, leaning forward on the table. "You want to move past this, that's how it is going to be."

The player shook his head in disbelief. This was utter nonsense. On the other hand, Lin didn't exactly give him a choice, and even if he didn't like to admit it at this point, he really wanted to do this together with her. He shrugged in defeat.

"All right, fine. You're on."

A predatory smile appeared on Lin's lips, and her eyes flared up with excitement. "I am going to stick my foot so far up your ass that you'll be able to lick the dirt off my boots."

"Let's keep the trash-talk for when we get there, okay?" The player said, groaning. He already regretted agreeing to this. "So we're good?"

Lin gave the player a long, hard look. "Yeah, we're good."

She lit herself another cigarette and waved at one of the waiters. Apparently she planned on a longer stay.

"All right," she said. "Let's talk about fucking up some Rollerz."


End file.
